CHAPTER TEN
Few days ago,Lady Sophia was reclining gracefully on a chaise longue on her balcony, surrounded by lush greenery and vibrant flowers. Soft sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting delicate shadows on the floor. Her dainty figure draped in a light muslin gown. Her long, auburn curls cascaded loosely over her shoulders, a few strands tousled by the soft breeze as her head resting on a pillow, and closed her eyes. Thin slices of cucumber cooled her eyelids, a soothing remedy for the fatigue from a long morning of correspondence and the previous night's social engagements. The green rounds rested gently upon her eyelids, their coolness soothing the faint puffiness that lingered there.
The gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the sweet scent of blooming roses. She breathed deeply, allowing the quiet of the moment to envelop her as she began to drift into a peaceful slumber, the rhythmic sound of her breath blending with the natural symphony around her.
Just as her lashes started to relax, her handmaid, Abby, entered the room with quiet steps, her presence barely audible on the thick Persian rug. As she stepped onto the balcony, the soft knock of her knuckles against the doorframe startled Lady Sophia from her reverie. The young woman hesitated for a moment, standing in the doorway with a respectful air.
"Milady?" her handmaid, Abby, whispered, curtsying at the balcony entrance.
Lady Sophia slowly removed the cucumber slices from her eyes, the coolness lingering on her skin. She blinked, her lashes fluttering as she adjusted to the light. With a graceful sigh, she sat up slightly, casting a curious glance at the letter.
"Yes, Abby?" Lady Sophia's voice was smooth, melodious.
Abby approached, bearing a parchment sealed with a signet ring. "A letter arrived for you, milady."
Lady Sophia's interest piqued, she sat up, her muslin gown rustling.
"For me?" She asked, her tone curious.
"Yes". Abby nodded
Thank you, Abby," she murmured, her voice carrying the refined tones of someone accustomed to both gentility and grace. She extended her hand to take the letter, her fingers brushing against the smooth parchment, and the world outside the balcony seemed to fade for a moment
"Who brought this?" Lady Sophia asked, her voice tinged with intrigue.
"A messenger from the Manorwood, milady," Abby replied.
With a soft smile, Lady Sophia carefully broke the seal,leaving the impression of the signet ring on the letter and unfolded the letter, her mind already wandering toward what news the manorwood might bring, all the while the afternoon sunlight continued to bathe her in its golden glow.
Lady Sophia's gaze lingered on the letter, her thoughts already spinning with possibilities.
"You may go."
Abby curtsied and withdrew, leaving Lady Sophia to ponder the letter's secrets.
But as she read on, her expression faltered
"Wedding invitation?" She was anticipating a charming correspondence from Max not this. She began to read again
"My dearest Lady Sophia,
I take up my pen to express my sincerest hopes that this letter finds you in optimal health and spirits.
I am reminded of a promise I made to you, dear lady, wherein I avowed to make an exception to my usual reticence and attend your next hosted gathering, should you extend an invitation.
Fate, however, has seen fit to alter my circumstances, and I now find myself compelled to invite you to a far more momentous occasion – my wedding.
I daresay, I should be honored if you would graciously condescend to attend.
Yours sincerely,
Maximilian Powell".
Her eyebrows arched in shock, her lips parted in dismay. The room seemed to shrink, the air thickening with disappointment.
The word "wedding" seared itself into her brain, like a branding iron. Lady Sophia's vision blurred, her gaze drifting from the page.
"How could he?" she whispered, a pang of hurt stabbing her heart.
Memories flooded her mind: Max's captivating smile, their witty repartee, the promise to attend her next event. She had believed their connection was blossoming.
Lady Sophia's thoughts drifted back to the enchanted evening they first met at lady Yvette, his mother's birthday. Max had swept her onto the dance floor, his eyes sparkling in the chandelier's light.
"You dance with the grace of a swan, Lady Sophia," Max whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
Sophia's cheeks flushed, but she couldn't help the smile spreading across her face. Their banter flowed effortlessly, like a gentle stream meandering through the countryside.
As the night wore on, they strolled through the Manorwood gardens, discussing business and politics. Max's intellect and wit captivated Sophia, and she found herself laughing and feeling seen.
"I must confess, Lady Sophia," Max said, his voice low and husky, "your intellect and wit have captivated me. I look forward to our next encounter, where our conversation will unfold further."
Sophia's heart skipped a beat. She interpreted his words as a sign of affection, a hint that he might be open to courting her.
In the weeks that followed, their encounters became more frequent. She would call on him at home, and they would take long walks through recreation grounds. Sophia felt alive, her senses heightened in his presence.
But now, as she gazed at the wedding invitation, those memories felt tainted. Had Max been merely playing her all along?
She recalled the way Max's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the deep timbre of his laughter, and the effortless way he commanded attention in a room.
Each memory cut through her like a double-edged sword – painful reminders of what she thought they shared.
"Now, it's all clear," she thought, bitterness creeping in. "He was merely playing me."
Her eyes flashed with indignation, her hands trembling. The letter crumpled in her grasp, the sound echoing through the silence.
"That scoundrel!" she muttered, her voice low and venomous.
As she sat there, frozen in shock, the wedding invitation seemed to mock her, its cream-colored paper and golden script now tainted with deceit. She couldn't believed this. " I have to do something",she muttered under her breath.